


Home is wherever I'm with you

by Crowleysbian



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Comfort No Hurt, Comforting Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley's hair is a big part of this story for some reason, Developing Relationship, Discussions about the concept of home, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Insecure Crowley (Good Omens), M/M, Mentions of Crowley's aggressive gardening, Moving In Together, Non-Graphic Smut, Pillow Talk, Post-Canon, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), Two supernatural beings learning to deal with trauma in a healthy way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2020-07-09 13:34:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19888660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowleysbian/pseuds/Crowleysbian
Summary: “Besides, I never imagined you’d be willing to leave your house in London behind. You were always so fond of the place.”Aziraphale chuckled, reaching out to carefully untie the demon’s ponytail; he mentally noted that he was yet to see a sight as breathtaking as Crowley with his hair down. “I was fond of it, yes. So much it took me some time to realise it wasn’t really my home.”Crowley snorted. “You’re about to say something really sappy, aren’t you?”“Oh, shut it, will you?” The angel elbowed him lightly. “I’m being serious. The bookshop was never my home, nor was Heaven.”“Obviously.” Crowley still resented the way the other angels have treated Aziraphale; he couldn’t imagine a place like that, so impersonal, ever being a home to an angel like him. “Your home is here.”“Obviously.” Aziraphale repeated, gently running his fingers through his hair. “My home is with you.”–After stopping Armaggedon, an angel and a demon work through their traumas, slowly discovering the meaning of "home".





	Home is wherever I'm with you

**Author's Note:**

> I'm very nervours to share this story – it is the first fanfiction I'm able to finish in over six years. I didn't even think I was still able to write fiction, but ever since I've gotten myself hyperfixated on Good Omens, I couldn't stop thinking about Crowley and Aziraphale moving in together and being disgustinly domestic, so... against all odds, this self-indulgent fic happened.
> 
> Title is from the song "Home", by Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros
> 
> This is also my first fictional work written directly in English, ever, so please forgive any mistakes/typos!  
> –  
> Edit: I fixed some major mistakes I could find, including some dialogue I forgot to add at first... That has taught me to never publish anything while sick and sleep-deprived again; in those cases, if anything could go wrong, it will.

When dealing with severe trauma, an individual is usually presented with a certain set of suggestions on how to cope with it: they are often told to remove themselves from the traumatic situation, if they are still immersed in it somehow; to talk with their family and loved ones about what they have been through; to accept that their feelings are valid, and that they might need time to fully process them; and also, to try to establish a healthier and stress-free routine for themselves.

Those are, of course, recommendations based on extensive scientific research conducted on the human psyche; they are, by default, meant to help human beings process the great stress caused by traumatic events they were exposed to. They were never intended to help occult (or ethereal) beings to deal with the aftermath of the Armageddon That Wasn’t, or the subsequent attempt on their lives conducted by their own sides on a war doomed to fail.

Yet a few weeks after the Antichrist stopped the end of the world, proceeding to reboot reality itself, an angel and a demon found themselves still trying to settle back into the routine they had cultivated before Armageddon managed to wreck every single inch of normalcy there was in their old lives.

Suddenly, habits long built made no sense, and Aziraphale and Crowley often found themselves forgetting they no longer answered to their respective headquarters. Without realising, they still avoided physical contact while in public, and there were times in which they found themselves unconsciously sitting separately in public transportation (which would lead to both parts feeling guilty about it for quite some time).

Besides that, there was also the change on the nature of their relationship. For millennia, they worked on building a solid friendship, based not only in their shared Agreement, but also on the mutual understanding that a careful friendship was _all they could have_.

You see, when you find yourself nurturing romantic feelings for your great Adversary, it is only natural to not let yourself cultivate any hope that those feelings might be reciprocated. But of course, the Armageddon came around, and when it destroyed their own understandings of Good and Evil (in a metaphorical sense), as well as Aziraphale’s bookshop (in quite a literal, if not permanent, sense), the angel and the demon found themselves in each other’s embrace in a flat in Mayfair – in a not at all platonic sense, too.

After the pair managed to escape the punishment set for them by Heaven and Hell, the weight of everything they have been through finally started to catch up to them, and with that, Crowley and Aziraphale found it extremely hard to let go of each other. Their dinner dates became more frequent, as well as their customary walks around St. James’ Park, and they would often find excuses to spend the night in each other’s company.

However, even though they have been slowly but steadily developing their romantic relationship, there was still one problem they failed to acknowledge: their shared traumatic experience and how it affected the two of them.

While Crowley and Aziraphale have been talking (maybe even more than before), they avoided talking about how the events related to the failed Armageddon affected them. They both knew what they have been through before, during, and after Armageddon – but they didn’t discuss how those events made them feel, and after some days have passed, it became increasingly harder to voice the discomfort that nagged at their minds.

This discomfort, by the way – it was hard to define. But to Aziraphale, it was very similar to the sensation he felt after he used a miracle to fix something broken: although the object is objectively fine now, he would always know it has been broken before.

Therefore, even though Adam Young has fixed most of the mess caused by the Armageddon (including Crowley’s beloved Bentley and Aziraphale’s bookshop), Aziraphale could not shake the feeling that reality as he has known for thousands of years is gone. Even his bookshop did not feel like home anymore: it has been burned to the ground, and the angel could swear no power on Earth, Heaven, or Hell could remove the faint scent of burned paper from the walls.

He mentioned it to Crowley, once, while feeding the ducks in St. James’ Park.

“My dear, I swear, the smell is still there. It’s subtle, but if you spend enough time in there, I know you would notice it, too. Your sense of smell is better than mine, after all.”

“Is that so?” Crowley replied, looking at the pond in front of them.

“I mean it, Crowley. It’s not an overpowering smell, but it can get suffocating when you’re stuck there for too long. Sometimes it gets so bad that I need to stop whatever I’m doing and just, well, go out for a walk. I suppose I should be thankful the weather has been quite nice lately.”

“Uh, well... maybe it’s a good old case of phantom smells, you know? When you swear you can smell something that isn’t really there. They call it ‘phantosmia’, I think.” The demon suggested, throwing a handful of good bread to the ducks rooming around the lake.

“You know, we ought to stop feeding the ducks bread. I’ve read it somewhere that it actually is really bad for their health.” Aziraphale furrowed his eyebrows. It really wasn’t his intention to change the subject, but Crowley gladly took the opportunity he was given.

“Angel, how long have we been feeding bread to the ducks of this very pond? At least a century or two! And they are just fine! They’ve always looked perfectly healthy, if not a bit addicted to fancy Russian bread.” Crowley had a teasing grin plastered on his face now, although Aziraphale could swear it did not really reach his eyes. He couldn’t be sure, though, because of the sunglasses.

The angel rolled his eyes at that, yet he couldn’t stop himself from chuckling. “Well, they haven’t been the same ducks for a century or two, now, have them? Many of the ducks have died. And how can you be sure their deaths were not related to all the bread they have been fed?”

“How the hell am I supposed to know?” The demon retorted. “I am not a duck specialist!”

“Neither am I, my dear.”

At that, Crowley paused. “Well…” He rubbed his neck, clearly a sign of anxiety. “For what is worth, I have no idea what else should we be feeding ducks with. If the bread is really that bad for them, we could always…” He gestured vaguely at the lake. “You know? Bring something else.”

Aziraphale smiled fondly at that. “I suppose we could, dear.”

They gazed at the lake in silence for a while. Aziraphale was aware of how his partner managed to get away from discussing the burned smell that he was certain that was deeply entrenched on the walls of his bookshop, yet he couldn’t bring himself to mention it again.

After all, he knew the fire was still a touchy subject for Crowley. When the demon saw the bookshop in flames, he thought Aziraphale was dead, that he was killed with hell fire, and the angel knew as much. But Crowley never mentioned it, he never seemed interested in discussing it, and Aziraphale didn’t want to pry.

“Angel, is the smell really bothering you?” Crowley eventually asked, frowning.

“It’s manageable, my dear.” Aziraphale suddenly felt the need to assure Crowley there wasn’t anything for him to worry about. “As I told you, you can only notice it after you’ve been inside for too long.”

“Well, I wouldn’t know.” He replied dismissively, and it was the honest truth. Even though he and Aziraphale have been spending a lot more time together, Crowley would try his best to avoid spending too much time inside the bookshop.

The whole place might look the exact same as it did before Armageddon, but it really didn’t change the fact that Crowley saw it be consumed by flames only a few weeks ago. The incident let him scared and heartbroken, thinking he had lost the most important being in his long, long existence – and even though Aziraphale was not actually killed that day, Crowley has yet to shake the bad feelings that being inside the bookshop gave him.

“But, you know… if it gets unbearable, you can always… crash at my place, okay?” Crowley suggested in a quiet voice, looking at the lake so he wouldn’t have to look at the angel right beside him. His hand, however, slowly reached for Aziraphale’s, lacing their fingers together.

Holding hands was the most physical contact they have managed to keep while in public, yet it was also so much more contact that they would ever dream to keep before Armageddon managed to drawn them closer than six thousand years ever managed to. And at that moment, the contact meant: _I am here for you. You can count on me._

“Oh, Crowley… That’s really kind of you, but I wouldn’t want to bother you like that at your own home.” Aziraphale might have dismissed the suggestion, but Crowley could notice the emotion in his voice. Sometimes even the smallest signs of affection could make Aziraphale’s heart swell with love – which was something that, even after years of friendship, still managed to catch them both by surprise at times.

“Please, angel… you’re never a bother.” The demon replied earnestly. He has had the displeasure of experiencing the way Aziraphale was treated by his fellow angels firsthand, and since that happened, he has tried to show him how his mere presence in his life was a gift he was not certain he really deserved. If Crowley still struggled to voice those feelings out loud, that was a different story – but he made a point in at least showing them with his actions as much as he could. “And that flat in Mayfair isn’t really my home.”

He did not plan on actually saying the last part out loud, but he did it anyway, and now it was too late to take back. It was the truth, of course: his flat was the place he would rest (even though he didn’t really _need_ to rest), as well as the place where he would keep his belongings and his plants, but it was not a _home_ in any sense of the word. Crowley knew that, and was way past pretending that wasn’t the case. Saying it out loud, however, sounded almost like a confession, and it made him feel weirdly vulnerable.

Aziraphale, perceptive as he grew to be when it came to Crowley’s body language, realised he probably was not comfortable in discussing the subject any further. So he did what he knew how to do: he changed the subject, commenting on how beautiful the sky looked that particular evening, telling Crowley all about the new restaurant that just opened in Soho that they must pay a visit someday, and smiling brightly at him.

The distraction, of course, worked like a charm. Crowley loved to talk, and Aziraphale could never get enough of their conversations. But later that night, when he was back at his bookshop – considerably less sober than he was a few hours before – he couldn’t stop thinking about Crowley’s words.

_That flat in Mayfair isn’t really my home._

Home.

Home was such a human concept – to the point where he doubted most of the angels in Heaven would be able to fully understand its meaning. Because, yes: by definition, your home was your place of residency; the place where you lived. Yet it was, in many ways, so much more than that. A home was, above all, the place where you belonged; the place where your (metaphorical) heart belonged.

Aziraphale knew that, of course. Going native held its perks, and understanding the intricate meanings of the many expressions on the english language was definitely one of them.

Which is precisely why Crowley’s words stuck with him: because he understood them perfectly. He understood the deep meaning they carried, yes, but he also _understood_ them. Crowley’s flat was not his _home_ , in the same way Aziraphale’s bookshop has not felt like his home lately: it didn’t feel like the place he belonged to.

That understanding, however, brought up another question with it: _if the bookshop was not his home, then where was his home?_

–

Some researchers often point out that living a traumatic situation can cause a certain degree of detachment from old habits. It’s not always permanent, and it can be stronger to some people than to others, but this kind of behaviour is not uncommonly observed in individuals who have been through traumatic or deeply stressful situation.

At least that was what Aziraphale has read in a book about dealing with trauma and grief that he found lost amongst his enormous collection of books.

It made perfectly sense for him. He and Crowley went through a traumatic situation, after all, and neither of them were taught how to process this sort of stress in a healthy way (in fact, they have hardly been taught anything – they just learned most of the things they knew along the way). As a result, that stress was making them feel isolated and detached from their old lives, from their old routines, and from the places they used to live.

The book then proceeded to establish a method to help people dealing with trauma-induced stress slowly establish new routines, maintain healthy relationships with their loved ones, and live a self-fulfilling life. It seemed exactly like the kind of thing both him and his partner needed right now, so of course, he kept reading. And took notes.

Said method turned out to be simple enough. It has been clearly thought out to help people develop small, positive changes in their own lives – it was not deep enough to actually guide full psychological treatments for post-traumatic stress disorder cases; at least not by itself. But it was good enough for an angel looking for ways to improve his demon’s daily routine.

The idea was to start out by removing yourself from the traumatic situation, if it is still ongoing, which is vital to guarantee your own safety. After that, you should also try to remove yourself as much as you can from any situations that can be overwhelmingly connected to the traumatic situation you have been through (that was not to say one should avoid everything that might remind them of their trauma forever, but that this kind of contact should be held gradually in order to avoid unnecessary stress and pain).

The second step would be to learn how to give yourself time. After a traumatic situation, it is easier for someone to feel like their whole world has collapsed; they often feel guilty for not being “strong enough” to endure the trauma without letting it affect the other parts of their lives. Considering this, you need should learn to accept what they have been through and the feelings that might come from it: some of those feelings might be scary to deal with, or ugly, but they are inherently _yours_ to deal with, and should not be dismissed. Learning how to deal with them might take time, but in the long run, this can have a positive effect on your life.

The final step is to maintain what has a positive effect in your life. That not only means to keep doing things that make you feel good, like maintaining certain healthy habits or starting a cool new hobby, but to also maintain and take care of your relationship with your loved ones. The people who love you are important in moments like this: they can listen to you, and their love often makes the weight on your shoulders feel lighter.

“The whole thing sounds rather poetic.” Aziraphale muttered to himself, but he had a small smile on his face.

“What does?” Crowley’s voice replied from the entrance door, making the angel slightly jump on his chair.

“Oh dear, I didn’t see you there.” He smiled gently at the demon who was now settling himself on the comfy chair set by the window just for him. He didn’t usually spend too long inside the bookshop these days, often coming up with a reason for them to either leave the building or go settle in the flat Azirapharle had upstairs – but when he was around, he would usually like to settle in that particular sunny spot. He would never admit to it, however, and Aziraphale didn’t need him to.

“Sorry, angel.” He did not sound sorry at all; in fact, there was a playful smile plastered at his face.

“Oh, of course you are. Have you been here for long? You know how I can get lost in a good book.”

“No, no, I had just came in when I heard you talking to yourself. What does sound rather poetic, by the way?”

“Oh, nothing. Just the way the author chose to describe his method of dealing with a problem, that’s all.” Aziraphale knew that, if he told Crowley what he was researching and why, he would scold him for worrying too much about him. He wouldn’t be actually upset with him, but he would probably be embarrassed, so it was best keep it to himself for the time being.

“I see.”

“So, tell me, my dear… what has brought you over today?”

“Oh, well... I was hoping I could tempt you to have lunch with me in that new restaurant you mentioned a few days ago?” Crowley grinned at him, the bastard. He knew that food could almost always win the angel over, and he used that to his advantage as much as he could. Aziraphale couldn’t even get mad at him for it.

“Say no more, dear boy. Let me fetch my coat, will you? I’ll be right back.”

–

It was around two weeks later when Aziraphale was finally ready to mention something about it to Crowley. This meant that, by then, he had already devised a (mostly) fool-proof plan to discuss the subject at hand, considering all sorts of possible resistance Crowley might show.

So on a certain night, after having ordered sushi from a good restaurant where they have had lunch the week before, Aziraphale decided it was a good time to ask a question that has been on his mind for days.

“Say, Crowley… Do you ever think of getting away from London?”

Crowley dropped the sushi he was holding with an undignified sound of surprise. “What?”

“Oh, you know… do you ever feel like you could use a change of scenary? Maybe go somewhere… quieter?”

“Like going on holiday trip?” Crowley furrowed his eyebrows.

“Not quite.” Aziraphale said cautiously. “I am talking more of a permanent change, you could say.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Well… Do you? Think about it, I mean?” The demon decided to tread carefully; he had no idea why Aziraphale has brought it up so suddenly, but his tone betrayed that there was an ulterior motive behind it.

“You could say that.”

“Do you have a place in mind, then?” Crowley asked softly, trying not to show any anxiety in his voice, even though the mere thought of Aziraphale possibly moving away from him made him feel sick to his stomach.

The angel rubbed his neck. “I was thinking of going somewhere quieter... a place where no one would try to buy the books of my collection, and with a big garden where you could maybe try your hand at scarring all different sorts of plants. Maybe somewhere by the sea would be nice, too.”

At that, Crowley paused. He was preparing himself to deal with a completely different sort of conversation; after all, he thought Aziraphale just wanted to tell him about his plan to moving away by himself. Instead, here he was, talking about sharing a place by the sea, with a books and a big garden.

Needless to say, the demon was left speechless for a couple of minutes.

That silence did nothing to sooth Aziraphale’s nerves. But before he could start worrying about having said the wrong thing, Crowley mumbled:

“I could use a big garden.” It was such a simple thing to said, and Crowley almost instantly hated himself for saying it. _Aziraphale has basically just asked him if he thought about moving in together with him, yet all he could say is that having a garden would be nice?_

Yet, to Aziraphale, this answer was more than perfect. It was something so _Crowley_ ; he wouldn’t have it any other way. “My dear, I’m sure you could. Maybe you could try your hand at putting the fear of God into some tomatoes, or maybe a couple of herbs.”

“Oh angel, herbs are terribly undisciplined. Naughty things, they are. It won’t be an easy task.”

“Well, I’m sure you will figure something out. You do have all the time in the world, after all.”

They felt into a comfortable silence after that; Aziraphale, busy finishing his dinner, could not hide the tender smile plastered on his face. Crowley, on the other hand, was still trying to deal with all the feelings that such a simple suggestion had awaken in him.

His mind felt a bit dizzy thinking about moving in with Aziraphale, sharing a house with him by the sea. Sharing a _home_ with him.

He could sleep until noon in a shared bed with his angel, then wake up by his side. Then they could cook lunch, something so very Aziraphale, like sushi and crepes. He could work in his garden by the afternoon, and by the evening, they could take a walk by the beach. After that, they would go back home, and maybe cook dinner. If he was being honesty, he didn’t particularly cared about dinner itself – it was the company that mattered. And if he got to fall asleep next to Aziraphale every night, Crowley would consider himself the luckiest bastard on earth.

However, as good as his fantasies seemed to him, a small part of him still wanted to be _sure_ ; sure that they were on the same page, sure that Aziraphale knew exactly where he was getting into. And it was exactly that part of him that eventually broke the silence.

“Aziraphale.”

“Yes?”

“Are you sure that’s what you want?”

“Well, yes. I was the one who suggested it, after all.”

“Ah, yes. I know.”

“Are you?” Aziraphale asked him back.

“Me?” Crowley rubbed his neck. “Angel, of course that’s what I want. There’s nothing I’ve wanted more in my life. I’m just worried about, you know…”

Aziraphale motioned for him to go on.

“Well, I’m just worried I might be going too fast for you.”

At those words, Aziraphale paused and looked at Crowley. They’ve known each other for millennia, yet he couldn’t think of a single time where he witnessed such an open and vulnerable expression on his best friend’s face. That was when he realised he got to the bottom of the problem: Crowley was scared.

Scared because, after thousands of years treading so very carefully whenever it came down to his relationship with the angel, the thought of going too fast and ruining it after everything they’ve been through and everything they’ve lost was terrifying. Scared because, at that point, they were everything they had left.

 _I need to make this work; I need him to stay_ , Crowley would think.

“Oh, love…” Aziraphale reached out for the demon’s hand, suddenly feeling the need to keep some sort of physical contact during that conversation. “You have waited for me for six thousand years; I don’t think you could have gone any slower than that. Besides,” He paused, catching his breath. “I don’t think there is a single thing you could do to could change the way I feel about you, Crowley. I am in too deep.”

Crowley exhaled heavily at that, trying to calm himself down. Of course that wasn’t the first time Aziraphale confessed how he felt about him; their first confession was much messier than that, with adrenaline and alcohol coursing through their veins. Still, he was far from used to hearing such open declarations of love and affection, and after thousands of years of self-repression, he still struggled to respond in kind.

Of course, he could trust the angel to understand that. They could trust each other in many ways, but most of all, they could trust each other to _understand_. Aziraphale understood Crowley struggle with being on the receiving end of any sort of affection; he did not feel like he deserved any affection, yet he craved for all the affection he could get.

“Come here.” The angel said, and with a swift movement, his hands were holding Crowley’s face, his eyes gazing so adoringly at him – and, oh, not even in his wildest dreams could Crowley imagine he would ever be so blessed as to be considered marginally worthy of being loved like that.

He leaned into the touch, and Aziraphale swear he could feel him tremble at little. When their lips met, there was a hint of desperation in his lips, but also gratitude. For a fallen angel, Crowley was remarkable good at showing gratitude; he was not as good at believing he actually deserved good things, but the angel would gladly spend the next centuries trying to convince him of the contrary if he needed to.

When they finally parted, Crowley had an uncharacteristically shy smile on his face. His voice sounded a bit hoarse when said: “I guess you finally caught up to me.”

“I guess I finally did.” Aziraphale chuckled. “I’m sorry I’ve kept you waiting, love.”

“You were worth the wait.” Crowley replied, burrowing his face in Aziraphale’s neck, and at that moment, the angel could not help but felt dizzy with the affection he felt for the demon. They were so close, and yet all he wanted was to get closer and perhaps never let go.

Eventually, Crowley shifted, getting to a more comfortable position. He did not manage to give up on maintaining at least some level of physical contact – such a touch starved creature that he grew up to be – but he finally regained enough of his composure to be able to discuss the subject that started the whole conversation. “Should we start looking for houses, then?”

At those words, Aziraphale felt blood rising to his face. He mentally cursed his new corporation for it; so unreliably human it was!

A smug grin made its way to Crowley’s face. “What is it, angel?”

“Oh, dear…” The angel started rambling. “I couldn’t possibly bring up the suggestion without gathering all the necessary information beforehand, now, could I? You know me… I love to do my research, and I might have gotten carried away with it this time.”

“Does that mean you already have a place in mind?” Crowley asked, holding his hand reassuringly. The whole situation was so _Aziraphale_ that he didn’t think it was possible for him to be upset, even if he wanted to. The angel wasn’t even sure Crowley would be on board with the idea of moving out of London after so many centuries residing there, yet _of course_ he went out of his way to actually look for houses on sale, to see if any of them lived up to his expectations.

 _And this was the angel who said I went too fast for him! Yet here he is, giving me a run for my money!_ , Crowley thought.

“Oh, Crowley, it is such a lovely cottage. It’s located close enough to Brighton so that we could go to the city whenever we might want, but it’s located far enough from it to give us some privacy. Maybe we could even give our wings a bit of a stretch, you know? Oh dear, it has been so long since I last had the chance to open up my wings in an open space…”

Ever since humans invented cameras, flying without being noticed became virtually impossible. But for beings like Crowley and Aziraphale, it has not been worth the trouble even before that; you could be easily spotted, and rumours have always travelled fast among humans. Still, the prospect of just being able to manifest your wings without being inside closed doors seemed very tempting, indeed – to be able to feel the wind blowing against your feathers was about as close to flying as occult and ethereal beings who have gone native could get these days.

“And besides, it’s only a short walk away from the sea. Oh, I could get used to the ocean breeze. Doesn’t it sound nice?”

It did sound rather nice, but it wouldn’t be fun to give Aziraphale such an easy win, so Crowley pretended to be thinking hard about it. He eventually inquired, “Well, perhaps it would be nice. What about the house itself, though?”

“It’s not a big cottage, you see, but I find that it has just enough room for the two of us. It had only one bathroom, which is alright… there is also a single bedroom, on the second floor. It has a small kitchen, a living room that seems to be quite cozy, and there is also a back porch with enough space for a table and some chairs. The best part, though, seems to be the garden. Or, well, it could be… because, you see, the cottage seems to have enough space in the back to have a beautiful garden, but the pictures show it has yet to live to its full potential. It would probably be a challenge.”

That was bait, and Crowley knew that. He knew it was bait just as well as he knew there was no way he would not take it. “Well, you know me. I couldn’t possibly run away from a challenge.”

Aziraphale had a smirk on his face. “It won’t be easy, my dear. But if you’re sure… we could put on an offer on the house.”

“Oh, I am sure, alright! I’m not scared of some naughty weeds, angel. But they will be scared of me in no time.”

In the following morning, an offer no seller in their right mind would be able to decline was put on that particular cottage, by a gentleman named Anthony J. Crowley.

–

Aziraphale has been the proud owner of a bookshop in Soho, London, for a couple of centuries. It has been a stable part of his life throughout a considerable part of modern history, surviving two World Wars and a Armageddon without suffering any sort of permanent damage, thanks to both angelic and antichristic intervention. Yet, for some reason, there was no sadness in his (metaphorical) heart while packing his beloved collection, not even any strong sense of nostalgia for what used to be his _home_.

In a sense, he felt as if his journey in Soho was complete. For centuries, he was very good at playing his part: he was a salesman that was perhaps way too attached to the antique books he was supposed to be selling. However, that occupation – as well as a lot of other things in his life – has started to make little sense after stopping Armageddon and escaping a certain death by hellfire. It’s incredible how the end of the world can help you put things in perspective.

For Crowley, his flat in Mayfair has never been a proper home – not in the sense Aziraphale’s bookshop has been a home to him, at least. He has never held any sort of attachment to the place, and has not expected to feel any sort of nostalgia while packing up his few belongings.

In all honesty, it was a rather cold place, especially for a cold-blooded creature like him. The decoration was also… questionable, although he would discorporate before admitting to it. Everything that he owned – which was not a lot of things, especially in comparison to the amount of stuff Aziraphale kept in his bookshop – was either a memorabilia from older times, or some impulsive acquisition he has made while awake at ungodly hours (the intersection of those two sets could probably be classified as “things he has impulsively bought because they remind him of Aziraphale, or of something they’ve been through together”). If anything, Crowley was relieved to be leaving the place, especially considering where he would be moving to.

Aziraphale had way more stuff to move than he did, and since he did not trust any sort of moving company with his precious books, the plan was to miracle everything to the cottage as soon as they got there. That means that they would have to perform a great amount of miracles; way more miracles than they have been comfortable doing ever since the Armageddon was averted.

“Are you nervous?” Crowley asked, while helping Aziraphale organise and pack his first editions. He couldn’t risk anything happening to them, even if there was virtually no way they could get lost, so they had to be individually packed – and this kind of thing goes faster with two sets of hands.

“About what?” The angel was distracted wrapping the book in his hand very carefully in several layers of cling wrap.

“Oh, you know… moving all of those boxes. It will take a lot of miracles.”

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. “Since when are you scared of getting your hands dirty?”

“I- Uh- I am not scared of some miracles.” Crowley sputtered.

“Are you sure?”

Crowley frowned, focusing on packing the books already properly wrapped (with their spines down, of course, so he wouldn’t risk accidentally setting any pages loose… those were old books, after all, that were kept in tip-top condition for centuries, something he wasn’t planning on changing). “It’s not about the miracles”, he eventually mumbled.

“What was that?”

“I said it’s not about the miracles.” He repeated, suddenly feeling too embarrassed to meet the other’s eyes. The books served as the perfect distraction. “I’m not nervous about the miracles, angel.”

Aziraphale stopped wrapping, sensing it was an important conversation, after all. “My dear, what is it?”

“Well… this, ugh… this is a big deal, isn’t it? This… this is a bloody big deal.” Demons do not pout, but if they did, they would surely look very close to what Crowley looked in that moment. “Isn’t it?”

“Crowley, of course it’s a big deal. Is that what has been bothering you, dear?”

“It has not been bothering me. I’m not bothered. I’m just… nervous. And since it _is_ a big deal, I’m allowed to be a bit nervous. Aren’t you nervous?” Crowley started rambling, and it there was any doubt that anxiety was getting the best of him, his mind going way too fast for his own good. Aziraphale had some millennia of experience on “all things Crowley”, though, so he knew that, at that moment, all he needed was a bit of reassurance.

“I wouldn’t say I’m nervous… I’m more, well… I think the correct word would be ‘excited’. It is a rather big deal, of course, so it’s normal to feel anxious about it… but also, doesn’t it feel good to be finally be able to do this? To be _free_ to do this?” He said, holding his hands together. He could feel himself smiling, and in many ways, to allow himself to smile so openly like that, because of Crowley, was also something rather new. It felt like well earned victory. “I guess I just can’t feel nervous when I’m busy being this excited about all the possibilities that we have ahead of us. And isn’t it a brilliant emotion to feel, excitement? It’s such an inherently human emotion, and yet here I am, an angel, feeling so very excited to spend the rest of my days in this very human planet by your side, love.”

Still not used to dealing with sudden declarations of love, Crowley burrowed his face on Aziraphale’s neck. He did try to say something along the lines of “ _Angel, you can’t simply say things like that so suddenly, I don’t think my demonic heart was built to handle such intense bursts of affection for another being!”_ , in a very playful and dignified way, but he ended up emitting incomprehensive noises that sounded very much like “ngggghh”.

Aziraphale hummed contently, rubbing circles on Crowley’s back. “Use your words, my dear.”

Crowley snorted, his chin resting on Aziraphale’s shoulder. It was an awkward position to be, in such a close embrace as they were in that moment, but he couldn’t get himself to move just yet. “I just… You keep taking me by surprise, angel, that’s all. You once complained I went too fast for you, but you are the one who keeps running me over, and I can’t even get mad at you about it.” he then moved, just a little bit – just enough so he could look Aziraphale in the eyes, his hands cupping his cheek. “Angel, I’m crazy about you.”

“Oh, stop it, you old serpent.” Aziraphale scolded lightly as the demon started trailing kisses down his neck. “We need to finish packing, otherwise we won’t get to Brighton in time to meet the seller and pick up the keys.”

Crowley snorted. “As if time was a problem for us.”

“Well, I don’t know if ‘bickering over your careless driving all the way to our new home’ is the best way to start a life together.” 

“Nonsense, I know that deep down you’re fond of my driving.”

It was Aziraphale’s time to snort. “Just go back to packing, Crowley.”

“Don’t want to.” He was definitely pouting now – which might not be something demons do, but it was definitely a habit that demons who have lived among humans for too long are vulnerable to catch; just one of the downsides of going native. 

Aziraphale sighed, resigning himself to the fact that they would be late. He couldn’t bring himself to move away from the touch just yet, so there he stayed, in such a close embrace that he could pick out the scent of the conditioner Crowley used. His cheek were pressed against the top of the demon’s head, and it was when his hand reached out to stroke his fire-coloured hair that it finally caught his attention.

“You hair has grown longer, love.”

Crowley hummed in response. “S’pose so. Decided to let it grow.” He paused, his chin resting against Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Do you like it?”

“It looks rather lovely. I got to admit I did miss the curls… Seems like a lifetime ago since I last saw them.”

“Oh, well.” Crowley detangled himself from the angel with a shy smile on his face. “It just felt right.”

Aziraphale sensed there was more to it, but there was no point in pressing him further. If Crowley was not willing to share it, it was because he was not ready for that conversation. So he settled on saying, “My dear, we really ought to go back to packing, I’m afraid.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Crowley said grumpily, wrinkling his nose. “You were right, by the way.”

“About what exactly, my dear?” Aziraphale asked absentmindedly; his mind was focused on calculating how many books were yet to be unpacked, and how much time did they have left to pack them all and leave to meet the seller. He quickly came to the conclusion that it was ‘definitely not enough’.

“About the smell of burned books. I can definitely pick it up now.”

“I told you I was not making it up!” The angel rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, you were definitely right about this one. This smell is subtle at first, but after spending some hours in here, it is making me sick. Let’s finish packing already so I can leave this place and never come back.”

“Oh, stop it, will you? It’s not that bad.” Aziraphale frowned. “Besides, this was my shop for centuries… I don’t really like to think about it with so much disdain.”

“Will you miss it?” Crowley was curious about that, yet had found opportunity to actually ask the angel about it until that very moment.

Aziraphale pondered for minute before a fond smile found its way to his face. “No, not really.” He said. “This is just the building, after all. I’m taking what’s truly important with me.”

“You mean the books?” Crowley said, going back to carefully placing the books the other one had finished wrapping into the correct boxes (as they were all previously labelled to avoid any misplacement).

Aziraphale chuckled. “I mean you, dearest.”

Crowley sniffed. “You big sap.”

“That I am.” The angel agreed, passing him the book he just finished wrapped. “Now, why don’t we finish this already, my dear? I want to go _home_.”

–

The matter of Crowley’s hair was only mentioned again about a month and a half into their cohabitation. By then, the two of them have slipped into a comfortable routine that had included: staying in bed until late, even though Aziraphale still was not very fond of sleeping; actually trying their hand at cooking, instead of just relying on fancy restaurants or take-out; aggressive gardening; the slow and careful process of organising a enormous library; and laying next to each other at night, looking at the constellations through their bedroom window, while talking about everything and nothing at all.

They also started trying out other human activities that they’ve never put too much thought into before – mainly because they were quick to realise just _how much_ free time retired occult and ethereal beings had on their hands. Inadvertently, they were working towards making new, healthy habits for themselves, which would go a long run for beings whose lifespan was way longer than the average human.

Aziraphale discovered he quite enjoyed biking, after buying a second-hand bicycle from a young lady he met at the supermarket. He and Crowley had only went to town to have lunch and pick up the groceries, but the angel heard the girl telling her friends she really needed money but couldn’t find a buyer, so they ended up going back home with groceries and a bicycle. At first, Crowley thought the whole situation was rather amusing; however, after biking in the evenings whenever the weather was favourable became a habit for his partner, he decided it was a great investment.

As for the demon, he was surprised to discover just how much he enjoyed living near the ocean. Whenever he was not spending his evenings working in his garden (which was proving to be way more of a challenge than he first anticipated, although he was finally starting to make some progress with those naughty weeds), he would be by the beach, enjoying the feeling of the cold water crashing against his feet. He would spend hours like that, just sitting in the sand, looking at the sea and thinking about whatever was on his mind that day – for a being with a fast and troubled mind like his, that was a blessing on itself. So, whenever he came back home, his hair was usually a mess, but his mind was significantly calmer.

Among human habits they have been trying out, there was also sex. Aziraphale had some previous experience in that area, and although they had been quite interesting, the whole thing didn’t seem worth the trouble of getting emotionally involved with humans – they formed attachments too quickly, and died too way too fast. After outliving the only human with whom he has formed this kind of attachment, he swore to never do it again – although he still kept a special spot for his books in his collection.

When he finally realised the nature and the intensity of his feelings for Crowley, back in the 1940s, he pushed the any thoughts about sex even further into his mind. At first, he was too scared of the possible consequences of those feelings; later, when he has come to terms with that, he avoided thinking about it because he craved for it and believed he could never have it.

Crowley, on the other hand, never bothered with it before; not only getting too attached to human beings has always seemed scary and messy, he also couldn’t bring himself to try it when he has always been painfully aware of his infatuation for the angel of the Eastern Gate. He was aware of Aziraphale’s quick involvement with that Wilde bloke during the time they have drifted apart, and although at first he couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealously because of that, he knew the whole situation they got involved was far from ideal, nor it has actual romantic feelings involved (besides, it was hard to keep hard feelings for dead humans beings whose lives were tragically constricted and shortened by their own arbitrary set of moral codes).

The point was that, for a long time, both angel and demon had tried to pay no mind to sex, either as a concept or as an activity, mainly because thinking about it was not worth it. However, after the world failed to end, and being in an established romantic relationship, sharing a home and a bed, and having more free time than they knew what to do with, discussing the possibility was practically unavoidable.

(If asked, they wouldn’t be able to pinpoint _who_ exactly asked it first; just that, after asserting they were both _very much amendable_ to giving it a try, they eventually found themselves sprawled out on their bed, all tired and tangled up around each other. Even though they eventually found out they very much preferred “tender love-making” than “desperate sex”, their first time held the desperation of lovers who have pinned for each other for millennia.)

That was not to say sex became the main part of their relationship; if compared to humans, you could say that they were taking it slow. This was because, well, when you have thousands of years ahead of you, there was no point in trying everything out in just a couple of months. Still, they did made a habit of doing it with some frequency, because it _did feel rather good_.

And it was in one of those nights where they did made the effort that they subject of Crowley’s hair was brought up again.

They were both laying in their bed; Crowley was sprawled out, breathing heavily, while Aziraphale laid on his side, looking at Crowley with so much love that could have made the demon all flustered – that is, if he wasn’t already flustered from their previous activities.

“To think we could have been doing this for thousands of years.” Crowley mumbled, feeling his muscles protest at every little movement he made.

Aziraphale chuckled, his hand gently caressing the demon’s hair. “Well, now we have all the time in the world to make up for it.”

Crowley hummed contently, looking at the ceiling.

“You know,” The angel said, resting his head against his shoulder. “It’s way past your shoulders, now.”

“What?”

“Your hair, love. It has grown past your shoulders. I think it is the longer I’ve seen it in thousands of years.” Aziraphale explained.

“It has, hasn’t it?”

“I think it’s quite lovely.” He added.

Crowley hummed. “Did I tell you why I decided to grow it out?”

“Not really.”

“Well,” The demon said, looking at the night sky through their bedroom’s window. “I just have avoided it for so long, you know? The long hair, and the curls… the whole pack, really. It’s probably silly, but–”

Aziraphale frowned. “I doubt it’s silly.”

“But it does feel kind of silly, looking back. I avoided my natural hair for so long, avoided my past for so long… and now that I’m, uh, embracing it… it feels like I have been acting kind of silly for thousands of years.”

“I’m not sure if I follow, love.” The angel confessed.

“I, well… It’s kind of a long story?”

“We have time.”

“Alright, then.” Crowley took a long breath, trying to make sense of what was on his mind – as usual, it was going way too fast for him to follow. “How should I start it?”

“Maybe start telling me how your hair is connected to embracing your past?” Aziraphale suggested.

“Okay, well… that is kind of a weird, long story.” The demon chuckled. “But before I start, you have to understand that my long, curly hair was something I used to be very proud of before I… fell.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. So…You know how angels were created before time existed, right?”

“I do.” The angel said. “We existed before time, and we were designed to endure time in ways human brains wouldn’t be able to conceive.”

“Right. So, angels are essentially timeless creatures, and even when time was created, angels were still not made to fit into this concept. What I am about to say might be something you never thought about, since you never Fell, but us demons… we believe that nostalgia is something deeply ingrained to the very matter angels were created with. That She made angels to not belong to the concept of time, to think about the past as just as important as the present and the future, and that this would be a symbol of their status amongst Her other creatures.

“Those of us who fought in the ‘Glorious Revolution’ and fell, we are expected to reject nostalgia – and tempt humans to do the same. Hell doesn’t encourage indulging in the past; even thought demons are just as resilient to time as angels are – we _are_ made of the very same matter, after all – we are expected to embrace time by living it to the fullest, always focusing on the present and never, never dwelling on the past. Me, however… Well, I don’t know if it was because I never actually fought in the bloody Revolution, or just because I was never very good at being a demon, but… I was never very good at letting go.

“I don’t remember much about who I was before I fell, just broken memories with lots of missing pieces, but I held out to every little bit of my angelic self as I could for so damn long. The long, curly hair… well, something deep inside of me told me that, if I got rid of it, I would be also letting go of who I was… back then. Finally rejecting the whole thing, you know? As I was expected to. But I was so damn scared, you know, angel?”

Aziraphale nodded, not trusting himself to actually say anything out loud.

“I s’pose everything changed on the Calvary. Not sure if it was because seeing humans being so foul to a person preaching about love and reverence made me finally embrace my role as the one who would tempt them to their doom, or if it was just because I finally realised how unforgivable I truly was after, you know, that offer of pardoning for humans that was definitely _not_ extended to creatures like me, but the fact was that, there, I finally felt disconnected from my past self. I was not the angel I once was, I couldn’t even _remember_ who he was – I was the demon Crowley, an unforgivable creature, and that was all there was to it.

"After then, I would change my hair style, change my clothes, always either following trends or creating them. I would keep as little memorabilia from the past as possible, letting go of anything that didn’t fit me anymore, like a snake changing its skin. My only constant was always you, which is very ironic, considering who you are and the way you always embraced nostalgia. I guess it was just another one of the things I always thought were fascinating about you.”

“So why now?” Aziraphale whispered. “What has changed, my love?”

“Everything changed.” Crowley replied, his voice hoarse with emotion. “We stopped Armageddon, for a start. Adam rebooted reality. We escaped certain death by holy water and hell fire! Not to mention…”

Crowley stopped, rolling to his side. He gazed at Aziraphale, who was laying by his side, on the bed that they have shared for over a month and planned to share for many more. He thought about the millennia he spent yearning for this kind of _domesticity_ , while also convincing himself there was no way he would ever get it. He thought about everything they’ve been through together, and also about how he never truly managed to let go of nostalgia, just switching it for a much more human kind of nostalgia, the sort that is not only fully immersed in the concept of time, but also embrace it like a friend, letting it shape who you are. The kind of nostalgia he knew Aziraphale felt.

And he smiled. Of course he did. He did not feel nervous that time, even though he definitely was in the middle of a very emotional confession. He felt _excited_ , just like Aziraphale felt the day that they moved in together. He also felt _relieved_ , just like he did when he saw Aziraphale came back unharmed from the trial and sentence Hell has designed to punish _him_. 

“Not to mention us. Aziraphale, we’ve known each other for six thousand years, and I’ve wanted you since the beginning. I’ve wanted you so much, but I never thought I could have you, or that _I deserved you_. That also changed. Because the world didn’t end, and we were not whipped out of existence… so you told me loved me, and that you wanted me, and you allowed me to love you back. And with that, everything changed.”

They were staring at each other, so Crowley saw when the tears started to fall, but the sight was so incredibly new that, for a moment, he had no idea of what to do. He felt frozen, unable to do anything but to stare.

Then Aziraphale said, “Oh, Crowley”, his voice breaking, and suddenly his body remembered how to move. He pulled his angel close – as close as two human-shaped bodies can be without merging onto each other – giving him a kiss on the forehead.

For a moment, they were in complete silence; the sound of their heavy breath echoing in the quiet room. They stayed like this for only a few minutes, but it felt like a lifetime, in a good way. Like they’ve had the opportunity to live another lifetime by each other’s side, understanding each other.

Eventually Crowley managed to speak again, his voice barely a whisper. “Do you remember the night you suggested we should move in together? After we finish eating, when you told me to go wait you in bed while you finished fixing the dishes? It was then, as I was laying on the bed, looking at the window and trying to will my own mind into calming down enough so I could actually fall asleep, that I decided to let my hair grow. I looked at the night sky and thought about the beginning, about who I was back then and at who I had become… And growing it out felt like finally coming to terms with my past and, you know, accepting my future; the new beginning I was being offered. It just… felt right.”

“Crowley.” When Aziraphale’s hands cupped his cheek, Crowley couldn’t help but lean into the touch, closing his eyes. “I love you. And I’m so very proud of the person you’ve become.”

The kiss they shared was tender, filled with emotions they kept for themselves for six thousand years. How very strange it was, to finally be able to bare your heart and soul to another being.

–

“Aha!” Crowley exclaimed, holding something in his hands.

“What was that?” Aziraphale said, closing up the book he was immersed in the whole morning. He was sitting by the porch, shielded from the sun. It was a nice summer day, with not a single cloud in the sky, so Crowley has made a point in spending the day out – he liked the feeling of sun against his skin. So he was out in the garden all morning, his long hair tied up in a ponytail.

(Aziraphale, however, much more preferred to stay out of the sun. So he stayed in the porch, where he could enjoy a good book while stealing occasional glances of his partner screaming at his poor plants.)

“We’ve got… a tomato!” Crowley grinned, showing what he was holding in his hands: a small tomato, indeed. “I told you, angel, all the plant needed was a bit of tough love!”

“I would hardly call it ‘tough love’, Crowley, you have been threatening the poor plant for over a week.” Aziraphale rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t hide the fond smile that made its way to his face. After about a year sharing a home with Crowley, he has already made peace with the fact that he was too fond of the demon to ever be truly upset at his shenanigans.

“Yes, well, and now we have a tomato.” Crowley retorted, also smiling. “My method works!”

“I can’t argue with that logic, my dear.” The angel conceded. “Now, why don’t you rest for a while? You have been out in the sun for hours. I really don’t understand how you’re not all sweaty.”

“I’m a snake, angel. Cold-blooded and all that.” He replied, wrinkling his nose. “I like to be out in the sun, s’nice.”

Despite that, he did sit in the floor right next to Aziraphale, busying himself with the small lemon tree he has been planning to plant outside. The summer has been very nice this year; his plants were thriving in a way they never did in London, with all the additional sun and threats they’ve been receiving lately. “I think she will be a good addition to the garden. It will be nice to grow our own lemons.”

Aziraphale hummed in response. “Lemonades are always nice at this time of the year.”

“And she _will_ make the best lemons, if she knows what’s good for her.” The demon added, eyeing the plant (that started to visibly tremble).

Usually that was when Aziraphale would reprimand Crowley for scaring his poor plants; he might know the demon didn’t mean half of the things he would say while gardening, but as an angel, he was still not a big fan of “threatening small creatures who depended on you to survive”.

When he failed to comment on it, Crowley turned to look at him, only to notice he was looking at the sky.

“A penny for your thoughts, angel?” The demon stood up, putting his hands at his partner’s shoulders.

“What? Oh,” Aziraphale smiled at him. “Sorry, I got distracted.”

“What’s on your mind?”

“Oh, I was just thinking about us.” He confessed. “It’s been a year, you know? Since we’ve moved here.”

“It’s been a year already?” Crowley rubbed his neck. “Time really does fly when you’re not busy with all the tempting and all the deception.”

“Or raising the wrong antichrist.” Aziraphale added.

“Or that.” Crowley agreed.

“Did you ever imagine that our lives could be like this?” The angel questioned, standing up so he could properly look at the demon, who had a confused expression on his face. He then smiled at him, placed his hands around his hips, which made Crowley visibly relax; he had the tendency of reading too much into his words, so Aziraphale knew that such a simple quest would probably have his mind running wild if he wasn’t careful enough to reassure him that, no, he was _not questioning his choice of moving in and starting a life with him_.

“Like what?” Crowley raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, you know.” Aziraphale gave him a gentle nudge. “So peaceful and, well, domestic. It’s nice, but I’ve got to admit, I didn’t think it would ever be possible before.”

“Not before we stopped the Armageddon, no. I mean, I wanted to, but I never thought it would be possible to actually thwart the Great Plan.” Crowley admitted. “Besides, I never imagined you’d be willing to leave your house in London behind. You were always so fond of the place.”

Aziraphale chuckled, reaching out to carefully untie the demon’s ponytail; he mentally noted that he was yet to see a sight as breathtaking as Crowley with his hair down. “I was fond of it, yes. So much it took me some time to realise it wasn’t really my home.”

Crowley snorted. “You’re about to say something really sappy, aren’t you?”

“Oh, shut it, will you?” The angel elbowed him lightly. “I’m being serious. The bookshop was never my home, nor was Heaven.”

“Obviously.” Crowley still resented the way the other angels have treated Aziraphale; he couldn’t imagine a place like that, so impersonal and _sanitary_ , ever being a home to an angel like him. He was always the best of them all, and never received the recognition for all the years he spent on Earth, doing their dirty work for them. “Your home is here.”

“Obviously.” Aziraphale repeated, gently running his fingers through his hair (being careful not to ruin any of his curls or getting his fingers stuck) “My home is with you.”

Crowley groaned, resting his head on his partner’s shoulder. “I _knew_ you were about to say something sappy.”

Aziraphale hummed. “Well, dear, you know me… being a big sap is my brand.”

“Well, for what it’s worth,” The other said, giving him a kiss on the forehead, “You’ve been the closest thing I’ve got to a home for millennia.”

“I’m glad I eventually caught up to you, then, my dear.”

In the back of his mind, Aziraphale thought about the book he read over a year ago. He thought about how lost and confused they both were back then, only a few weeks after escaping several near-death and one near-end-of-the-world experiences, and how far they’ve come since then.

When he first started thinking about moving away from London, he hoped that the change of air would be good for the both of them; that going somewhere quieter would allow them to heal after the whole mess they have been involved in.

He never imagined that it would feel so natural; that his old life would feel like a complete different reality – it felt so distant that sometimes he wondered if he was really the same person then than he was now.

The answer would be yes, and no. He was the same angel who once guarded the eastern gate of the Garden of Eden, of course, yet he was shaped by time in ways other angels couldn’t even dream of. Maybe that was a consequence of going native; he choose to let time affect him, like Crowley once said, in a human way – and he didn’t regret it in the slightest.

In fact, after everything he has went through, there was little he actually regretted, and he certainly did not regret leaving pieces of his old life behind to fully embrace the new chance he has been given. Especially at moments like this, where Crowley stood there, flustered, looking at him like he was something precious… He couldn’t picture himself being anywhere else. 

**Author's Note:**

> Am I terrible with endings? Yes.  
> Do I resent the fact that the English language doesn't have a word for "cafuné"? Also yes.  
> Was I projecting on Crowley the whole time? Absolutely.
> 
> Still, I had fun playing with those characters, and I hope you liked it.  
> Kudos/comments are deeply appreciated, by the way!
> 
> If you like this, consider [buying me a coffee?](https://ko-fi.com/dykehawks)  
> You can find me on [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/dykehawks).
> 
> And here is my [ineffable husbands playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/26Cn520JzgVR51vi9uv8iu?si=ZHMCs61TQzSnVdjWVFKUfg) on spotify.


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